The Zombie Chasers #4 (2 page)

“Tragic.” The host nodded thoughtfully, shuffling her note cards. “The next question is for Madison: What was going through your mind when you realized America's only hope for survival was you?”

“Um, it was pretty intense,” Madison said. “I mean, I was happy to do it. But once we made all that popcorn, it was nice to get a break from being the antidote.” She paused, flipping her hair to the side. “All I really know is, there's no way I'd even be here right now if it weren't for these guys watching my back.”

“And neither would any of us,” said the host, and the crowd cheered. “Zack, how about you? What was it like to hold the fate of the world in your hands?”

“Well,” said Zack, “it was scary, and there wasn't a lot of time to think about what to do next. We just kind of reacted and went with our instincts and—”

“Yeah,” Rice cut him off. “Take me, for instance. Like, one day I'm watching zombies get their butts kicked in some movie—can I say ‘butt' on TV?”

“Uh-huh.” The host nodded yes, and Rice continued.

“And then the next day, I'm out there chasing actual zombies with my friends. It was awesome!”

“So, Rice,” said the host as she cleared her throat. “Tell us what you've been up to now that your zombie-chasing days are over.”

“Actually,” Rice said coyly, “I'm workshopping a musical comedy I wrote over the winter. It's a Shake-spearean hip-hopera entitled
Much Ado about Yo Mama
.”

The host cracked a smile. “That sounds wonderful, Rice. Now, everyone, please welcome Oswald Briggs!”

The crowd clapped, but Ozzie was nowhere in sight. The cameraman panned across the platform. Then, as the camera swung back, Ozzie catapulted out from behind a pillar into a long series of backflip handsprings. He landed in crouching-tiger position, alert, gripping his nunchaku, ready for battle.

The crowd gasped involuntarily and then cheered.

All of a sudden a band of zombie stuntmen appeared from behind two curtained-off areas of the stage and staggered toward Ozzie.

“Blargghlesgargles!”
moaned the undead phonies.

The crowd gasped again. With a combination of kicks, jabs, flips, and elbow chops, Ozzie took down the band of “undead” stuntmen one by one. He did a flying gymnastic cartwheel round-off combo to finish the routine, leaving the entire zombie stunt team conked out on the floor.

The audience erupted as Ozzie took a bow and then trotted over to join his friends for the rest of the interview.

“Ozzie,” the host said, “you are obviously a talented martial artist, but what are you doing now that you're done saving the world from legions of the undead?”

“Well,” Ozzie began, “after me and my dad moved to Phoenix and I started school with these guys, my dad and I created a charity with Rice's dad, who makes prosthetic robotic limbs for a living. The charity sponsors people who lost an arm or a leg during the BurgerDog outbreak, but can't afford the procedure. So far we've supplied over one thousand less fortunate people with new limbs.”

“Give it up for the Zombie Chasers, everyone. America's heroes!” the host said. “And now, we are proud to have a very special guest. Please welcome the mayor of New York City!”

The mayor sauntered onstage, leaned over the podium, and spoke into the microphone. “On behalf of the five boroughs, I present to you exceptional young men and women the key to the city of New York. Thank you for your fine display of teamwork and perseverance in our country's desperate time of need.”

Zack walked over first and shook the mayor's hand. Then all five of them posed for a picture and accepted their keys to the city.

With the crowd cheering, Madison snipped the ribbon hung across the entrance, and the museum doors opened.

Zack took a long deep breath and sighed, thankful that the hard part of the trip was over.

Z
ack, Rice, and Ozzie strolled through the high-ceilinged foyer of the museum. A few feet inside the exhibit stood three life-size wax statues illustrating the different stages of zombie decomposition. The third and most grotesque zombie replica slouched with a hunch in the shoulders, its arms drooping below the knee. Large areas of skin were melted away, revealing slick, glossy patches of red meat beneath the flesh. Farther down, a massive stuffed zombie cow-pig from the BurgerDog cattle ranch stared down on them from a large pedestal, with a placard that read:
BOVINE HOG
. It was almost more revolting now than when it was alive.

“Check it out,” Rice said, pointing toward a big aquarium on the other side of the room. The boys raced over and peered at the live jellyfish specimen treading water in the middle of the tank.

“That's what zombified the BurgerDog virus,” Rice said.

“Come on, dork brains,” Madison said, strolling through the museum gallery. “They're about to show a movie about us.”

“Yes,” Zoe said in a motherly tone. “There will be plenty of time to be complete losers later on.”

The girls skipped off and vanished to the front of the line gathering outside the screening room.

A few minutes later, the boys took their reserved seats in front. The theater was a blank white room equipped with a projector and a few rows of seats on each side.

The lights dimmed and the screen lit up.

The documentary began with a series of clips from the news footage during the outbreak, followed by a brief history of Thaddeus Duplessis, the creator of BurgerDog. Next there were interviews with their parents, Colonel Briggs, Greg Bansal-Jones, Sergeant Patrick, and Private Michaels. There was also authentic security camera footage from their trek across the country, their pit stop at the Mall of America, and their journey to the BurgerDog cattle ranch way out in Montana.

All of a sudden the projector cut out and another scene interrupted the documentary.

Zack watched in disbelief as black-and-white spy-cam footage of his bedroom flashed on the big screen, and a techno dance beat thumped in the background. Zack knew the song immediately. It was his favorite song to geek out to when he was alone in his room. Zack jumped into the frame wearing a white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants before trying out a series of embarrassing dance moves in front of the mirror.

The audience started to laugh. Zack turned around and looked behind him. The Fearsome Foursome giggled in the back row. Above them, Zack caught a glimpse of two silhouettes up in the projection booth: Madison and Zoe, doubled over with laughter. When they saw Zack watching them, they both smiled at him and gave a little wave.

Rice looked at Zack. “You want to get them back for this?”

Zack took a deep breath. “Absolutely.”

“Good,” said Rice. “I've got just the thing. We have to wait until the timing is perfect, though.” He patted the contents of his trusty backpack and the documentary came back on.

The film concluded with a newsreel chronicle of Operation: Scatterbrains where dozens of fire planes dumped loads of brain-flavored, antidote-covered popcorn across the continent. As the lights turned back on, the crowd applauded. Some of his classmates were still snickering, but Zack couldn't help but smile. They had saved the world—no matter how many times his sister could embarrass him—and that never stopped being the coolest thing ever.

Shortly after the museum opening, the seventh- and eighth-grade classes of Romero Middle School gathered in Central Park for lunch. They all laid out picnic blankets, waiting for the pizza to arrive.

Madison and Zoe were lying out on their blanket, catching some rays. They had their sleeves rolled up and their sunglasses on. Next to them Zack, Rice, and Ozzie sat on a blanket of their own, people-watching in the shade. All types of folks populated the park: joggers, cyclists, Frisbee throwers, businesspeople, and tourists basked in the fine spring day.

“Look at all these people . . . ,” said Ozzie as he pointed to a bunch of New Yorkers strolling through the park. “What a freak show!”

He stared at a man teetering through the park on stilts. Even more bizarre was the stilt walker's getup—he was dressed like a circus clown, with an orange Afro wig, bright red nose, white face paint, polka-dotted pants, a poofy shirt, and purple suspenders.

It was strange to see all of these weirdos in broad daylight. Back home in Phoenix, the freaks usually came out only after dark.

Just then Zack saw Rice's eyes shift surreptitiously from side to side. “Here we go, boys.” Rice extracted a small black device with a speaker from his backpack. He crawled forward toward Madison and Zoe, reached his hand under their picnic blanket, and planted the gadget there, unnoticed by the sunbathing girls.

“What the heck was that thing?” Zack and Ozzie both asked at the same time when Rice returned.

“That, my friends,” said Rice, “is a state-of-the-art, remote-controlled noisemaker.” He held up the tiny remote. “With the click of a button, that little gizmo under there will mimic the sound of any bodily function a human being has to offer. It's like a whoopee cushion, except way awesomer.”

“Sick,” Zack said, and looked away, trying to ignore his older sis for fear he might give Rice's plan away. Over his shoulder he spotted a guy in a red polo shirt and cap walking toward them. He was balancing a dozen pizza boxes on his upturned palms. “Hey, pizza guy's here!”

“Okay, everybody line up,” said their Spanish teacher, Mrs. Gonzalez. “Only two slices per person, please!”

As all the hungry middle schoolers raced to form a line, Madison stood in front of their music and drama teacher, Ms. Merriweather. “Excuse me, Ms. M,” said Madison. “I need another Band-Aid. This one's getting all grody.” She peeled off her old Band-Aid and tossed it into the trash can.

“Hold on one second,” Ms. Merriweather said, turning to Madison. “Oh, my gosh.” She slapped her forehead. “Honey, I'm so sorry; I forgot to order you a personal vegan pie.”

“But,” Madison said, whimpering a little, “I'm, like, totally famished, Ms. M. . . .”

The delivery guy scratched his head. “I don't think we have vegan anything.”

“That's okay,” Madison said, making a pouty face. “I'll just pick off the cheese, I guess.”

After everyone got their pizza, Zack sat back down on the picnic blanket between Ozzie and Rice. He folded his pepperoni slice in half and took a monster bite. The pizza was the best he'd ever tasted, Zack thought, as he polished off the slice.

“This is the life . . . real New York City pizza,” Rice said, airplaning a stray pepperoni into his mouth.

Zack glanced over at his sister, who was talking to Madison with her mouth full of pizza crust. They were both giggling as they watched two college-age boys playing catch with a football. Madison grabbed another slice of pizza, peeled the cheese off and started to scarf it down.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Ozzie whisper-yelled. “Let's try this thing out!”

Rice pressed one of the remote-control buttons with his thumb, and a series of hideous fart noises erupted from underneath the girls' blanket. Zoe and Madison both sat up and lifted their sunglasses. “Ew, dude,” Zoe said. “Gross.”

“Uh-uh.” Madison laughed. “That wasn't me.”

“Twinkles?” The girls jinxed each other.

Twinkles barked defensively. “Arf-arf!”

Zack and Ozzie covered their mouths, cracking up silently.

Rice pressed the remote control again and a louder barrage of grotesque bodily sounds reverberated from underneath the girls. Heads began to turn toward Madison and Zoe.

“What are you freaks looking at?” Zoe yelled at the class. “It's not us!”

“Yeah,” Madison said. “Stop looking at us. It's totally rude!”

Rice hit the button one more time and another foul-sounding noise erupted, causing the entire class to burst into a fit of laughter. Just then an adult-size silhouette appeared, casting a shadow on Rice's moment in the sun.

“Arroz!”
Mrs. Gonzalez stood towering over them. “
Dámelo
. Give it to me.”